Vicariously experiencing the MPavilion
— with Pamudu Tennakoon
The pre-show
On the 3rd of October, the City of Melbourne proudly presented the 2017 MPavilion. It is the fourth structure of its kind — an architectural commission which invites an architect or artist to design a temporary structure in Melbourne’s Victoria Gardens for a five-month period. Former participants include Australia’s Sean Godsell, the UK artist and architect Amanda Levete, and last year, Bijoy Jain from Studio Mumbai, India.
In February this year, when Rem Koolhaas and David Gianotten from OMA — a beyond famous, internationally acclaimed architectural office — were announced as this year’s designers, my excitement peaked. OMA has long since reached starchitecture status for a monumental oeuvre of public works, museums and skyscrapers, and through their experimental design ethos. Koolhaas also has a suite of pavilion projects up his sleeve…
I jumped on Dezeen and ArchDaily to see some initial renders of this future pavilion. What I saw were visualisations of an elegant square structure — a floating, glowing roof over an amphitheatre space.
Although on a smaller scale, it shares aesthetic territory (or visual branding) with some of OMA’s meatier projects — such as the 2015 Garage Museum of Contemporary Art with its reflective, translucent facade, and the 2004 Seattle Central Library with projecting, geometric roof .
The descriptive language for the MPavilion also plays off the aesthetic direction of another high-profile pavilion project of OMA’s. The “reconfigurable amphitheatre” and “translucent, floating roof,” promised by the MPavilion sound strangely familiar to OMA’s 2006 Serpentine Pavilion. Almost as if the MPavilion revisits and simplifies the Serpentine Pavilion, into something more closely resembling a building, than a lofty hot air balloon.
I’m not sure what to make of this self-reflective practice — whether reflexively referencing former projects comes at expense of an innovative design praxis, or, if this represents an experimental process of testing and perfecting themes, forms and materials through the MPavilion. Then again, perhaps I should not through stones at transparent pavilions until I see it in person. My experience so far is only vicarious.
Over the past month, I have been tracing the MPavilion’s reception online — through websites such as Dezeen, ArchDaily, and social media platforms. This was initially to get a sense of the type of engagement the pavilion offers city goers and tourists to Melbourne, as well as what people make of this veritable piece of “star-architecture.” What this revealed, was in fact a lot less about the physical pavilion itself, and a lot more about how MPavilion is virtually representing itself online, through digital means.
Digital circulation and experience—#MPavilion
My first mode of attack was through a simple Google Image search. It was interesting to discover that by typing “2017 MPavilion”, the first three images retrieved were digital renders of the pavilion. These images have been widely circulated prior to the opening of the MPavilion, but strangely, they have not yet been superseded by photographs of the built structure.
Following this, I hopped on Instagram. There is the official “MPavilion” Instagram (with 1074 posts, 12.4k followers) and the public community of #MPavilion users (so far have contributed 4792 posts). It seems in both cases, by both the MPavilion convenors and the general public, the content oscillates between the physical structure, and the activities surrounding it, and for the most part, the latter is emphasised. Below is a screenshot of the top 9 Instagram posts — showing a mix of images with the MPavilion as a backdrop to a public talk or gig, and the others are promo images for music events, and oddly de-contextual posts of coffee cups, yogis and labradors. Interesting but not really what I was hoping for.
Renders, crowds and coffee cups. I would really like to know more about the physical pavilion. Simple things — what it is made of, what do visitors make of it, how aside from the planned activities, might passersby and city-goers engage with it? Or perhaps these elements are beyond the vicarious experiences of a couch-bound internet surfer, like myself.
So, when hearing that my friend and and fellow RHD candidate Pamudu Tennakoon visiting Melbourne, I set her on an important mission: to seek out the MPavilion, photograph it, linger in it for a while, then report back. These are her findings.
Interview and impressions — with Pamudu Tennakoon
Expectation versus reality
The beginning of the interview revealed that both our expectations for the spatial qualities of the pavilion were heavily influenced by how we had engaged with it digitally through its online presence over the past few months before it opened.
“I almost missed it! I knew where it was, I had it on Google Maps. They did have a sign to it, but as I was walking along, I dismissed it, as it was across from the gallery and it seemed like a lot of propaganda.”
“The website image was taken from the interior, which made it look much bigger than it is, from the perspective it was taken from.”
“I think I expected something different, from how it was photographed on the website. They only have interior shots they don’t have back shots where the grass slopes up towards it.”
Context
Understanding the structure, what is was and what its function was, was also ambiguous without the aid of social media. The MPavilion website gives a detailed description of what the space is, and a schedule of activities that will be be taking place there, however none of this was available on site.
“They didn’t give context to it, they just said, it was funded by these people, designed by this person, but no theme as to what inspired it. And it was covered in Pride flags and the lights on top were also in the colours of the rainbow, so I was unsure if it was co-opted by the LGBTQ movement...”
Despite this lack of context for a passer-by, Pamudu was impressed by the dynamism suggested by this space, and the juxtaposition between this fairly high-tech form and the surrounding gardens.
“When I was reading on it, the placard, it said how it was meant for workshops, exhibitions and pop-up sort of things. For that I think the space is super useful as there are all these layers for people to sit on. The part I found the most interesting is how it engaged with the landscape but was also so bare in its material usage.”
At the time of her visit on a Monday afternoon, it was not particularly busy. Manned by a volunteer and solely occupied by a student with a laptop, it also briefly caught the attention of a few park-goers. The only signs that refer to the pavilion was a promotional placard which lists sponsor and designer information, and a small label on the top bleacher inside the pavilion, discouraging people from standing on it.
Live engagement
Pamudu took note of how visitors, unfamiliar with the pavilion’s programme or purpose, initially engage with the space. There is almost a mild anxiety as to whether you can occupy it, move the stools around, appropriate it for your own use, stemming both from its “newness” and the sense of being watched within the amphitheatre.
“I think, just seeing the space…when I went in, I think it would have been less jarring if it was full of people. It felt like an empty lecture hall, because it is structured like a lecture hall. When walking in, it feels awkward, because it feels like there should be something taking place in the space. So when it is not used…I don’t think they have struck the balance between it being a space you can use for events, and galleries, as well as a space that will just stand everyday.”
“You do have stools that you can move around, I didn’t touch those because they look heavy. I think they were stone, but I am not sure. It isn’t something I wanted to do in the space when there was no body around. There were two people there, and I didn’t want to just move stuff around. Because that is a very self-conscious thing to do when you are in a built public space.”
I asked if, perhaps she lived there, she would feel more comfortable in the space, to move the stools around if she wanted to.
“Not as a tourist, maybe if I lived there? But then again, there is no body there in this side of town. Its Southbank. Do even locals feel like they have ownership over this public space? If I was going to the Gallery it would feel like a space where I could meet a friend there. I did go there with a friend who has no interest in architecture, and she was like, what is this, what is its purpose. She didn’t understand the purpose of it.”
Vicarious digital engagement versus physical engagement
The MPavilion feels as if it is trying to negotiate its popular online presence, with its physical one. What I find most interesting, is that my vicarious engagement with the MPavilion online, gives me a fairly rich, interesting and diverse experience — compared with Pamudu, who felt confused and uncertain of what to make of the MPavilion in the flesh. Online, I am actively encouraged to participate with it digitally, at times with representations beyond any physical experience — through attractive digital renders, its popular Instagram feed, and most recently, through drone footage sweeping gracefully over the structure in its lush surroundings.
I don’t necessarily feel that the physical realisation of the MPavilion has missed the mark. That, if only there were more pamphlets available, or a different marketing direction by the MPavilion organisers, that a physical visitor would “get more” out of their visit to the structure. I just feel that the emphasis on online engagement is in many ways, taking precedence over the pavilions’ physical presence. Context does not come from actually “being there” and “seeing it for yourself.” Rather, the context and meaning is gained through online participation with a virtual site — which tells you where to click, what videos to watch, what architectural precedents the MPavilion takes takes cues from — where there is the promise of constant engagement, and the opportunity to reflect on its formal qualities, whether or not you know what it is actually made of.
Whereas, without this prior online engagement, when spontaneously visiting the MPavilion, there is little to actually do there. It feels like an awkward space to sit and reflect, with no context, no programme, and no feeling of purpose as a visitor. Apart from a cursory, confused engagement, which regardless, keeps the steady stream of online images flowing:
“ I don’t think I know what purpose it has. I don’t know, I’m not sure. Though I did walk up on it, and I did go inside and take pictures.”
References:
https://www.instagram.com/mpavilion/?hl=en
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Yawn8ABd65E
Thank-you to agent Pamudu for the photographs and for answering my questions.
